 "Photo: Photos by Kunal Kakodkar | Daily Trojan")
Venture to the dark recesses of Parking Structure A, past the fleet of DPS sport utility vehicles and the forbidding chain-link fence, to a small oasis in the sea of concrete, warded in by heavy duty blue tarp, its contents invisible to the outside world.
What you will find is the motor vehicle world's equivalent of an elephant graveyard, also known as an autoshop, where old cars lend their fossilized remains to be recovered and recycled in the grand vehicular circle of life.
The shop, which occupies seven parking spaces in PSA, is cluttered with extra steel piping, old race cars in various states of disrepair, tools of an indefinable nature and an old Honda CBR motorcycle engine situated on top of the dynometer - a horsepower meter, which is lovingly dubbed Dyno.
A handful of young men stand near the door - more of a space between two expanses of tarp - grouped around an unassuming collection of welded steel bars mounted on a long table.
One engineer peers through the slot in the tarp in the direction of Scene Dock Theatre.
"Scene Dock would be such a great shop … Look at that door!" said Blake Stanley, a junior majoring in mechanical engineering, as he stared longingly at the theater's retractable portcullis.
Minus possible designs on Scene Dock, the group of primarily mechanical engineering majors have one goal: build from scratch a racecar to compete in the Formula 1 SAE collegiate competition without breaking the bank or the spirits of their crew.
When one hears the term "racecar," the first association is usually of sleek racing machines splashed with motor oil advertisements, hurling themselves around a circular track for some interminable length of time as middle-aged Midwestern men cheer on their champions from the grandstands.
And with 75 million adherents in the United States - nearly one-third of the country's adult population - the fact that this classic NASCAR view of the sport is so prevalent is hardly surprising.
It's also completely incorrect.
In the mid-'70s, the Society of Automotive Engineers International, in conjunction with the Briggs & Stratton Corporation, pioneered the Mini-Baja event, a race in which contestants construct cars within the constraints of a specific motor size. As the competitions increased in popularity and sponsorship, new events such as the Formula 1 were added.
The competition became so popular, in fact, that it was split into separate divisions, one based in Detroit and the other in Fontana, Calif.
"Last year, registration filled up in 12 to 17 minutes," said Michael Williams, a junior majoring in mechanical engineering. "In 2003, it took three weeks."
Cars submitted to the competition are judged on the basis of cost, presentation, design, acceleration, performance on the skid pad and autocross and overall endurance.
The rules governing the Formula 1 event are strict and non-negotiable, but the form is more flexible than the Mini-Baja event, with considerable room for creativity. This is mostly because there is one major restriction on the car.
"The students are given a 20-millimeter hole and asked to build a car around it," said Geoffrey Shiflett, professor of aerospace and mechanical engineering and faculty adviser to the team.
The 20-millimeter restriction limits the air intake to the engine and therefore the amount of power that the car will ultimately have. Beyond that, however, the entire design is at the whim of the engineers.
This is an exciting prospect for eight or nine core engineers whose education has thus far been restricted to the realm of the theoretical rather than hands-on application of concepts.
"What we learn in school are just tools," said Michael Losordo, a senior majoring in mechanical engineering. "Actually building a car is a totally different skill set."
At present, the 2006 racecar is a welded steel frame that has been the special responsibility of Phillip Prejean, a senior majoring in mechanical engineering. There are no wheels, no seat and no body, and the engine lies disembodied across the garage.
Even in getting this far, the road has not been altogether smooth.
"We had a big problem acquiring materials," Prejean said. "The Earle M. Jorgensen Company has supplied us with the steel bars we needed, but otherwise it's been a struggle."
The engineers not only have to work hundreds of hours to build and maintain their racecar, but also act as administrators of a nonprofit organization.
The race team maintains a budget and purchases tools and materials through donations - many of which come from the school of engineering. This year, the team has about $20,000 to work with, Williams said.
On a project like this one, however, where the manpower and man-hours required are extreme, simple communication and team relations are critical.
"The most challenging part of this project is the time commitment and working with others," Prejean said.
And no wonder. The design for the car is a huge cooperative effort that takes up essentially the first semester of the school year. The second semester is devoted to making that design a reality, and both are coupled with crunch-times that can bring stress to a peak - finals, for instance.
"We work 100-hour weeks toward the end of the semester," Losordo said. "All my food is here. My clothes are here. I sleep here."
All of the engineers have horror stories of insane caffeine highs coupled with the corresponding crash wherever there's space to lie down.
"Last year, I would drink a case of Rock Star and then just sleep in my car," Prejean said.
Tests become something that the engineers work into their lives outside of the shop.
"I was in the shop for 72-hour days, sleep for 16 hours, and then go to a final," Williams said.
Already, the signs of residence have begun springing up all over the shop. As Losordo entered that Tuesday evening in a rather festive sombrero, he immediately pulled on a pair of work pants he'd left around the shop before diving into a box of Twizzlers. Williams would gesture with the bottle of Martinelli's apple juice he was nursing throughout the night, and the music coming out of the rigged speaker system gave the shop a lived-in atmosphere.
Last year, the car didn't even start until the day before the team was supposed to begin the long haul to Detroit.
One year, the car caught fire in the middle of a drive.
Others have been crashed, mangled and otherwise abused.
This year's car, though, has better prospects.
"Our car has the same power-to-weight ratio as a Ferrari 430," Losordo said matter-of-factly. "Though in competition it won't see speeds over 60 miles per hour, the car will be capable of about 110 miles per hour," Williams said.
"We build it, we drive it; we have a lot of fun," Losordo said.
The competition is also an avenue for networking. Several major motor companies - General Motors, Daimler-Chrysler and Ford, among others - will be in attendance and looking for fresh talent.
"This is the industry I want to go into," Williams said. "All the interviews I've had have focused on the Formula SAE races."
And so the engineers work on, through sugar highs and lows, through sleep-deprivation and the resulting hysteria, through the scream of the welding torch and the roar of the Dyno.
At the end of the road there are five days of intense competition against 70 other teams from the West Coast, the proud return, and the plans begin for next year's car.
As the Dyno roars to life, its cacophonous tones bouncing off the concrete of PSA, a disgruntled director from the nearby Scene Dock approaches the shop.
"We've got 15 minutes until show time," the director will say, with a pointed look at the machine, his tone laden with oh-so-polite suggestion.
Williams simply shrugs and nods. "That's 15 more minutes with the Dyno."
